Every song that passed felt like another knife through my heart. I’d practically mastered the art of forgetting about people when they were halfway across the country, but here, in front of me, each vocal reached further and further into my memory, digging up the past, raining on the future.
The entire band sounded better than ever, Dylan especially, his confidence and voice at a level I’d never seen before. I was standing in the back left corner, propped against the wall, doing everything I could to hold myself together.
When they reached the end of the set, everyone in the audience went wild, hands applauding above their heads, screams penetrating the air. By that point I was already gravitating toward the front, hoping to catch Dylan at the downstairs bar after their equipment was packed up.
I made a beeline for the front, ordered a cranberry juice, and waited like a hawk in one of the red plush booths by the bar. My eyes roved the room, my nerves jumping at every new person that came through the doorway. After what felt like an eternity, I saw the outline of Jeff’s tall, lanky frame enter the room, followed by Christian and Justin, and braced myself for what was coming next.
What I didn’t expect was the short, curvy blonde linked on Dylan’s arm.
Time stood still as I watched Dylan’s lips trace the girl’s cheek, their fingers intertwined like newlyweds. In my mind, I had imagined that he was dying inside the same way I was, but the devilish look in his eye was enough to convince me that the past year of my life had been nothing but a façade. And before the tears could even begin to hit my cheeks, I stood and disappeared out the back door without looking back.
***
I couldn’t go back to the hotel. It would’ve been even worse than those first few lonely nights back in Boston, post-David-and-Justine. My thoughts and I, staring at the wall, the bad memories replaying over and over like a movie reel. So instead, I opted to roam the flooded streets of Manhattan to clear my head.
By now, the rain was coming down in spurts, temporary drizzles to downpours and back. I walked five blocks to a late-night gift shop in Times Square, bought a black hooded sweatshirt to throw on over my soaked clothes, then kept trudging through the army of bright lights.
I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going, I was just drifting in the vicinity of where Dylan and I had stayed during the last trip, since I was vaguely familiar with the area. Usually, the energy of the city made me feel so alive, but tonight, all I wanted was to push through all the smiling faces and find a safe place to console my heartache.
I made a right onto Tenth Street, and immediately spotted the bench where Walter and I had sat while I drunkenly confessed my feelings for Dylan. I stopped and peered up at the lit windows in the hotel, wondering which room had once belonged to Dylan and me.
The night that had changed everything.
Then I remembered the blonde on his arm and kept walking.
The rain had more or less stopped, it was now just drizzling off the sides of building and splashing up from puddles as cars drove through. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt tight over my hair and kept my head down, ambling forward like someone about to be crucified.
I crossed the street and kept going, well aware that the further I went, the less likely I’d be able to find my way back to the hotel on foot. But before I could turn around, I saw the fountain and picnic benches at Bryant Park on my left, and forced myself down on one soaked tables. Water seeped through the backside of my pants and I curled my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them, thinking back to when Dylan and I were here, when things were different. Back to when the sun shone and my heart was still in tact.
I’m not sure how long I stayed there, it could’ve been two hours or ten minutes. My thoughts just blended together like a drug-induced fog until I realized the tips of my fingers were numb and I needed to get back to my heated hotel room. And to top off my trip down memory lane, there was a giant black van that looked just like Dylan’s parked along the side of the road across the street from the park.
I walked out to the sidewalk and snuck a backward glance at the van, only to realize from the Massachusetts license plate that the van didn’t just look like Dylan’s, it was Dylan’s.
The van was empty, but I looked down the block towards the hotel. Could he really have stayed there? After all the memories, did he really have the heart to go back there again? On second thought, he had moved on pretty quickly.
I was frozen in place on the sidewalk, debating on whether to check with the hotel front desk, call him, or do none of the above, assuming the curvy blonde was still in his presence.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. A dark hooded figure, pacing in circles in the back corner of the park. I could spot Dylan’s mannerisms from a mile away. The way his bobbed his head up and down like a pigeon when he walked, his lips moving ever so slightly as he carried on a private conversation with himself.
My body felt detached from my head as I found myself floating in his direction, with no idea what I was going to say or how he was going to react. I drifted closer and closer until he finally stopped pacing and looked up.
As soon as our eyes met, his face dropped in shock, and for a split second I almost turned and ran in the other direction. But instead of the hard look I was expecting, the coldness that had replayed itself every time I shut my eyes, he smiled.
I opened my mouth to explain, but instead he pressed his index finger up to my lips and shook his head.
“Not now,” he said, still smiling. And when I felt his lips on mine, all I could remember thinking was that it was the second time that year that New York would save my life.
***
“So, what made you decide to come here?”
Dylan and I had relocated to the soaked bench. Side by side, drenched in rain, the two of us huddled together as if our surroundings were non-existent.
“Justine, actually,” I said.
Dylan cocked an eyebrow at me and the left side of his mouth curled up. “You don’t say.”
Yeah,” I said. “She showed up at Beth’s place, and after we got to talking, she made me realize how easily I had given up.” I let out a light laugh. “Giving up easily, especially when I really want something, isn’t exactly my strong suit. I guess I just needed someone who really knows me to remind me of that.”
“Well it sounds like you guys finally worked things out.” He raised his eyebrows. “So I assume I will be seeing more of her?”
“Just not too much, if you know what I mean.”
We both burst out laughing.
“But, in all seriousness, it’s not exactly something that can happen overnight,” I said. “I think trust is an important part of any relationship, but I also think it’s something that can be rebuilt if you’re willing to work at it.”
Dylan nodded, placing my hand in his. “I couldn’t agree more.” He lowered his eyes to meet mine. “Renee, I owe you an apology. I should’ve listened to you instead of walking out like that, and I should’ve trusted you enough to know…”
“Nothing happened with David,” I interjected. I started to reiterate the details of that fateful night but he held up his hand in protest.
“I know that now,” he said. “I just needed some time to really think about things. But being away from you these past few weeks really put things into perspective for me. I realized how much I overreacted, and I was planning on calling you when I got home.”
My eyebrows creased together. “So, who was the blonde you were with at the club?”
Dylan’s perplexed look mirrored my own. “Who?”
“I came to the show tonight to talk to you, but I left because I saw some girl hanging on your arm and I thought…” I inhaled deeply. “I thought you had moved on.”
Dylan threw his head back and let out a loud laugh. “I have no idea who she was. She loved our music and her friends asked me to pose in some photos with her. I think she’d had a lot to drink.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, lowe
ring my gaze. Dylan grinned, picking up on my thoughts.
“Renee, you were the one who pushed me into this,” he reminded me. “And you know as well as I do that there’s always going to be girls like that at every show.”
Groupies. I knew all about it. Justine and I could’ve earned a metal for the number of times we’d weasled our way into tour buses and backstage after-parties.
I had a fleeting image of myself with a toddler on my arm, my rock and roll days long behind me, Dylan’s just beginning.
“There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” I blurted out.
Dylan slid an arm around my waist. “We have all night to talk about anything you want.” He looked up at the sky as light splotches of rain started to fall. “Why don’t we crash at your hotel tonight?” He motioned towards his hotel building. “I’m bunking with Justin tonight, so I don’t think we’d have much privacy.”
I shook my head. “How could you stay there again? Didn’t it remind you of…” My voice trailed off. That night was hard to cram into just one word.
Dylan nodded. “Yeah, it did. But it’s undoubtedly the most affordable place in this area.” He smirked. “I’m a starving artist now. I’m on a tight budget.”
“Well, then. My hotel it is.”
We stood up and exited the park, walking back towards Tenth Ave. Dylan grabbed my hand and turned to face me.
“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”
I studied the outline of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the life that had returned to his eyes. The presence that had weighed on my mind for weeks on end. The person that was mine again.
“It’s not important,” I said.
Quite possibly the understatement of my life.
Chapter 24
“So you haven’t told him yet?”
I paced around my room in circles, running my fingers through my hair. “Justine, trust me, I’m going to tell him. But when were standing there, talking about everything, it just… didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”
“Renee,” she scolded. “You have to tell him.”
“I will. I just...”
“Like, now. Tonight.”
“I can’t tell him tonight. It’s our one-year anniversary. He’s taking me out to dinner. I don’t think that would go over well.”
I could hear laughter echoing on the other end of the phone. “Stop making excuses! It’s not going to ruin your anniversary. It’s a good thing. You guys are going to be parents!”
I let out a long, loud sigh. “If this is a good thing, then why the hell doesn’t it feel like it?”
“Because you’re scared,” she replied matter-of-factly. “That’s why.”
I sat upright in my bed and forced a smile because I knew she was right.
I was terrified.
***
Fortunately, the condo that Dylan and I had put a deposit on was still available. Between moving into our new place and piecing our relationship back together, the past two weeks had whizzed by so fast that all the days seemed to blend together.
Electric Wreck had slowly began creating a buzz, thus spawning another opening slot offer for The Reds, one of Boston’s biggest local acts, on their upcoming U.S. tour. Thus, whatever spare time Dylan had was almost always spent at the rehearsal space, concocting as many new songs as possible for the trip.
Thanks to Dylan’s income increase due to the upcoming tour, and my rental decrease due to our cohabitation, I was finally able to quit my soul-raping job working for Elaine and do some freelance writing instead. I’d accepted a part-time position writing for a music column in Boston Magazine, where most of my work consisted of interviewing local bands over the phone and piecing together profile stories on them. It wasn’t quite Pace Magazine status, but it was definitely a step in the right direction. Not to mention, it allowed me the freedom to accompany Electric Wreck on their three-week stint if I so decided.
Dylan was scheduled to leave for tour the week after next, so he offered to take me to his favorite Italian restaurant for our anniversary, even though cliché tradition celebrations were extremely out of character for him. Bella’s was a small restaurant located on the south side of Boston, with an eloquent interior and antique knick-knacks all around. Ironically, even though every entrée on the menu gave blue balls to my taste buds, Dylan insisted on getting pizza every time we went there. Out of all the fancy, exotic dishes on the menu, the goddamn kid wanted pizza.
“It’s not just any pizza,” he would say. “It’s the best brick oven pizza in all of Massachusetts.”
He always ordered it with garlic and replaced with tomato sauce with sliced tomatoes. I had to admit, it was pretty good, but I felt a little silly going to an expensive restaurant and ordering pizza, so I always opted for a ridiculously expensive entrée instead, even though I never even finished half of it. I just felt like I had to.
My stomach was in knots throughout the entire dinner. I should’ve been enjoying it considering it was a special occasion and all, but I kept resisting the sudden urge to blurt out, “I’m pregnant!” at random intervals like someone with Tourette’s. And the worst part was trying to think of a gold-medal excuse for declining champagne on our anniversary. I was a champagne whore on the other three-hundred and sixty four days of the year, so naturally Dylan knew something was up when I ordered an iced tea. I tried to play it off like I wasn’t feeling well, but I could tell he wasn’t buying it.
I kept sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking and wondering how he was going to react when I finally grew enough cajones to spill the news. Neither of us had ever discussed children, so for all I knew he could be completely against the idea. And what kind of a father would he be? Would he be on those “I’ll kill your date with my shotgun” dads if we had a daughter? Would he awkwardly attempt to manhandle a football if we had a son?
“Renee, is everything okay?”
That was another thing I hated. He always busted me when he could tell that I was mentally a million miles away.
I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
He looked at me nervously and shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem like you have something on your mind. You sure there isn’t anything that’s bothering you?”
Along with the punctuality gene, the liar gene had skipped out on me as well. I was officially the world’s worst liar. I could’ve won an award for it. Whenever I tried to mimic a serious expression, I ended up looking like I was half-retarded.
I contemplated whether I should just give in and lay it all out there, but when I looked up at him, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to spoil our dinner, especially since he had tried his hardest to dress up for the occasion. Dylan’s idea of dressing up was wearing any type of shirt that contained a collar and buttons.
I took a giant bite of the lobster ravioli I’d ordered so that I could give myself a minute to collect my thoughts. I reminded myself that I just had to get through dinner with a smile and then, once our romantic evening had come to a halt, I’d break the news to him that the rest of life was about to also.
“I have a bladder infection,” I blurted out, which was half the truth. “And I’m… not supposed to drink while I’m on antibiotics.”
I had no idea where that genius revelation came from, but I was always a better liar on cue. Organized lies had a tendency to include too many unnecessary details.
My glory didn’t last long, as Dylan’s expression was so genuinely concerned that I immediately wanted to kick myself and fess up so I didn’t have to look at it anymore. But I kept reminding myself that I was doing this for him. For us. It was our anniversary damn it. I wanted at least one of us to be able to enjoy it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, looking at me like I was some sort of fragile baby bird. “If I knew that you didn’t feel well, we could’ve just stayed in tonight.”
“No,” I argued. “It’s not that bad, really.”
&n
bsp; He grinned at me devilishly. “Good, because I’m making a quick stop on the way home. I have a surprise for you.”
Not as big of a surprise as I have for you, I thought.
***
Dylan refused to tell me where we were going, despite my repeated pleas throughout the entire drive. Typically, I’d annoy the shit out of people who were withholding information until they finally gave in and spilled the beans, but with Dylan it was no dice. All I knew was that we were headed south.
My heart did a backwards somersault when he pulled off the exit for Plymouth center. He was taking me to his mother’s house? On our anniversary? That was a bad move for two reasons: a.) It was extremely unromantic to spend your anniversary with your boyfriend’s mother and b.) The last thing I wanted to do was pretend everything was fine in front of Terry. She was a mother. Mothers always know. She’d take one look at me and see the word “pregnant” scrolling across my forehead marquee.
I shot him a skeptical look. “We’re going to your mother’s house?” I asked, not meaning to sound nearly as unenthused as I did.
“No, we’re not going to my mother’s house,” Dylan said, looking at me like I had a mental deficiency. “What on earth makes you think that I would want to spend our anniversary with my mother?”
Because I’m pregnant, I thought. Pregnant people are irrational!
Dylan pulled into a parking lot right on the Plymouth waterfront and shifted the car into park. I recognized the jetty immediately. I wasn’t sure what his big plan was, but I followed him after he stepped out of the car and started walking towards the water.
The cool ocean breeze made the air feel as though the temperature had suddenly dropped twenty degrees. Every time the wind shook, it felt like a thousand ice cubes stabbing through my skin. I crossed my arms and fought back the urge to whine about it like I normally did, but then Dylan glanced back at me and tossed me a sweatshirt. Bastard. I hadn’t even seen him grab one out of his car. He knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.
Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Page 16